The Backroads of Revision - Part I
Posted by Andie Ryan Blog at 7/20/2009 8:22 PM 
Categories: Revision Backroads
Tags: revision unpublished rejection rewriting writing first drafts agents
Categories: Revision Backroads
Tags: revision unpublished rejection rewriting writing first drafts agents
How much do you have to revise a manuscript before it's ready?
It's a good question, nearly impossible to answer and different for everyone. I was accustomed to thinking of readying my manuscript for workshop classmates and instructors, agents, editors, and publishers. But I think a writer must first ready the manuscript for himself. This takes discipline. And distance. And more time than you may initially be prepared to give it.
"The profession of book writing makes horse racing seem like a solid, stable business." (John Steinbeck, Newsweek, December 24, 1962)
Frustrated? You're not alone. It's a hard lesson. If you write with any regularity, and seriously, you know when it's good, and you know when it misses the mark. You know when a word is not the best choice, and you know when the dialogue is off. You know before anyone else. And you know that putting a manuscript aside for a while gives you insight that remains elusive in the frenzy of composition.
When you're just starting out, or if you don't already write for a living, this instinct takes time to develop. I had written three complete drafts that I thought were pretty solid before submitting queries and manuscript pages to agents. I had been through advanced level workshops, paid attention to every scrap of criticism, and worked on the novel steadily for two years. Except for the changes that agents or publishers might demand, I thought I was done.
Two of the largest fiction agents in New York responded to my initial queries in 2006; one responded in 24 hours, requesting the full manuscript instead of the usual 50-page partial. Euphoria.
"Most people won't realize that writing is a craft. You have to take your apprenticeship in it like anything else." (Katherine Anne Porter, Saturday Review, March 31, 1962)
I didn't fully grasp this concept of apprenticeship back then. If I'm honest with myself, that third draft still felt wrong somehow. It felt unready, but I didn't know how to make it any better. I figured that's where the publisher's editorial team would contribute (wrong). Parts were done, I knew, and found their way to the finished book with minor tinkering. But most parts required more than my abilities could address without professional editorial help. In some ways, it was competent. But it wasn't any good.
There was a nagging feeling that it had been too easy. When those two big-agent rejections came rocketing back a couple of weeks later, my first thought was that the query letter was better than the manuscript. It was - I spent about sixty hours on that letter, and it showed. I had worked hard on wordsmithing the manuscript too, but I hadn't worked hard enough on the story. Two years is a long time, but it wasn't long enough for me to get it right.
"All first drafts are shit." (Ernest Hemingway)
So were my second and third drafts. Right after I got those two big rejections (and there were many others too), I contacted a professional developmental editor. During the next two years, I revised the manuscript another six times. It was the most sensible decision I made.
The meaning of "revision" changes as you progress through apprenticeship. Early on, I groomed sentences, got my metaphors into better shape, switched paragraphs around, added scenes, added characters, and generally thought I was doing what I was supposed to do and getting better at it. Literary tickling.
In later drafts, I eliminated point-of-view characters, changed entire plot lines, deleted chapters, scenes, and other characters that I had felt devotedly married to, rewrote most character motivations, and realigned the novel along one central thread of action. Every chapter either had to advance that action, or show how characters were affected by it -- my editor's advice, and the best advice she could have given me. Now I was appropriately focused on the story. The extent to which the characters were involved in the novel's actions changed, and deepened. Chapter endings got stronger. I began to understand my characters as people. They started directing their own actions.
I had also started reading TECHNIQUES OF THE SELLING WRITER, by Dwight Swain (University of Oklahoma Press). Don't let its commercial title and back cover copy deter you. Its 300 pages is a mini-MFA program, a grand lecture from a favorite professor, the best kind of professor -- patient, tolerant, entertaining, and unwavering in his commitment to hold you to a higher standard. You will come away with a much better understanding of how fiction works.
The seventh draft was my light switch.
Next post: "The secret of all good writing is sound judgment." (Horace, ARS POETICA (13-8 B.C.)), and more.
Quotes are from THE INTERNATIONAL THESAURUS OF QUOTATIONS (compiled by Eugene Ehrlich and Marshall De Bruhl).
It's a good question, nearly impossible to answer and different for everyone. I was accustomed to thinking of readying my manuscript for workshop classmates and instructors, agents, editors, and publishers. But I think a writer must first ready the manuscript for himself. This takes discipline. And distance. And more time than you may initially be prepared to give it.
"The profession of book writing makes horse racing seem like a solid, stable business." (John Steinbeck, Newsweek, December 24, 1962)
Frustrated? You're not alone. It's a hard lesson. If you write with any regularity, and seriously, you know when it's good, and you know when it misses the mark. You know when a word is not the best choice, and you know when the dialogue is off. You know before anyone else. And you know that putting a manuscript aside for a while gives you insight that remains elusive in the frenzy of composition.
When you're just starting out, or if you don't already write for a living, this instinct takes time to develop. I had written three complete drafts that I thought were pretty solid before submitting queries and manuscript pages to agents. I had been through advanced level workshops, paid attention to every scrap of criticism, and worked on the novel steadily for two years. Except for the changes that agents or publishers might demand, I thought I was done.
Two of the largest fiction agents in New York responded to my initial queries in 2006; one responded in 24 hours, requesting the full manuscript instead of the usual 50-page partial. Euphoria.
"Most people won't realize that writing is a craft. You have to take your apprenticeship in it like anything else." (Katherine Anne Porter, Saturday Review, March 31, 1962)
I didn't fully grasp this concept of apprenticeship back then. If I'm honest with myself, that third draft still felt wrong somehow. It felt unready, but I didn't know how to make it any better. I figured that's where the publisher's editorial team would contribute (wrong). Parts were done, I knew, and found their way to the finished book with minor tinkering. But most parts required more than my abilities could address without professional editorial help. In some ways, it was competent. But it wasn't any good.
There was a nagging feeling that it had been too easy. When those two big-agent rejections came rocketing back a couple of weeks later, my first thought was that the query letter was better than the manuscript. It was - I spent about sixty hours on that letter, and it showed. I had worked hard on wordsmithing the manuscript too, but I hadn't worked hard enough on the story. Two years is a long time, but it wasn't long enough for me to get it right.
"All first drafts are shit." (Ernest Hemingway)
So were my second and third drafts. Right after I got those two big rejections (and there were many others too), I contacted a professional developmental editor. During the next two years, I revised the manuscript another six times. It was the most sensible decision I made.
The meaning of "revision" changes as you progress through apprenticeship. Early on, I groomed sentences, got my metaphors into better shape, switched paragraphs around, added scenes, added characters, and generally thought I was doing what I was supposed to do and getting better at it. Literary tickling.
In later drafts, I eliminated point-of-view characters, changed entire plot lines, deleted chapters, scenes, and other characters that I had felt devotedly married to, rewrote most character motivations, and realigned the novel along one central thread of action. Every chapter either had to advance that action, or show how characters were affected by it -- my editor's advice, and the best advice she could have given me. Now I was appropriately focused on the story. The extent to which the characters were involved in the novel's actions changed, and deepened. Chapter endings got stronger. I began to understand my characters as people. They started directing their own actions.
I had also started reading TECHNIQUES OF THE SELLING WRITER, by Dwight Swain (University of Oklahoma Press). Don't let its commercial title and back cover copy deter you. Its 300 pages is a mini-MFA program, a grand lecture from a favorite professor, the best kind of professor -- patient, tolerant, entertaining, and unwavering in his commitment to hold you to a higher standard. You will come away with a much better understanding of how fiction works.
The seventh draft was my light switch.
Next post: "The secret of all good writing is sound judgment." (Horace, ARS POETICA (13-8 B.C.)), and more.
Quotes are from THE INTERNATIONAL THESAURUS OF QUOTATIONS (compiled by Eugene Ehrlich and Marshall De Bruhl).
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